


I don't want to talk (I just want your arms wrapped around me)

by Ohorikoen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Jealousy, Party, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ohorikoen/pseuds/Ohorikoen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock watched Molly laugh at something Lestrade had said and leaned closer to him, placing one of her small hands on his chest.</p><p>Which didn’t bother Sherlock at all.</p><p>No, not one little bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don't want to talk (I just want your arms wrapped around me)

**Author's Note:**

> Once again a big thank you to my Beta, dontlikehugs18, who pointed out some hilarious spelling mistakes.

The whole thing was tedious. A party for a baby? Ridiculous.

“I don’t understand the point of this event.  The child doesn’t know who we are.  At this stage most of its communication consists of crying, along with the occasional gurgle and grunt.  Deductively very boring.”

“The party is not really for the baby, Sherlock, and it’s most definitely not for you. It’s for Mary and John.  This way all of their family and friends can see the baby at the same time, so Mary and John don’t have to worry about noisy relatives and well-meaning friends popping by all the time to see the baby. And please try not to cause trouble. You said you’d be on your best behaviour.”

With that said, Sherlock watched Molly make her way back through the crowd out into the small garden area to resume her conversation with Lestrade.

Which didn’t bother him.

No, not one little bit.

Sherlock was above all things a logical man; of course he had bouts of infantile behaviour, but what high functioning sociopath didn’t?  Sherlock knew that Molly wasn’t going to leave him for Lestrade, despite the older detective following Molly around like a dog in heat.  However, that didn’t change the fact that Sherlock didn’t like watching them together.

Sherlock looked back over at the pair to catch Molly laughing at something Lestrade had said.  She leaned closer to him and placed one of her small hands on his chest.

Nope, still not bothered.

Sherlock knew it was only friendship on Molly’s part, a kind of workplace camaraderie.  Sherlock knew that Molly didn’t realize that Lestrade fancied her.  For a brilliant pathologist she was oblivious when it came to recognizing that the detective’s interest in her went far beyond friendship. 

Sherlock would never consider himself a jealous man; in truth, he was far too arrogant to ever be jealous.  Sherlock knew that Molly would never leave him for another man.  If their relationship were to end, it would be because of a catastrophic mistake on Sherlock’s part and not due to Molly being wooed away by an outside party.

Still.

Sherlock might not be jealous, but he was territorial.

He’d promised Molly he would be on his best behaviour, which for Sherlock fell somewhere on the scale between rude genius and petulant teenager, so he wouldn’t make a scene.  He’d simply wait for Molly to finish her discussion with Lestrade.

Once Molly made her way back to Sherlock, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Come with me.”

He placed a hand on her lower back to guide her through the kitchen, up the stairs and towards the bathroom.  Once they arrived on the first floor, he pressed Molly against the wall and kissed her - there was no finesse, no seduction, only an overwhelming need to possess her.  Molly raised her arms to loop around Sherlock’s neck as she kissed him back; she moaned quietly as his hands came down to caress her bottom.

Slowly, Sherlock unwrapped Molly’s arms from around his neck and lead her towards the bathroom; once inside he pressed her against the door.  Molly arched towards him as he pushed her dress to the side and slipped his hand into her knickers.  He kissed her again as his fingers pressed into her sensitive hot skin, outlining her swollen folds.

"No other man has ever made you this wet."  Sherlock declared with the absolute certainty that came with simply being Sherlock Holmes.

Before their surprisingly exuberant sex life, Molly had always thought of Sherlock as asexual,  in fact the first time he had asked her if “her pussy was wet for him,” she had had a coughing fit so violent that Sherlock was forced to walk naked through her flat to get her a glass of water.  Now, six months later Molly still felt a little embarrassed by Sherlock’s ‘dirty talk’, so she answered quietly with embarrassment in her voice, "No, no one else ever has."

Obviously pleased by her answer, Sherlock pressed two fingertips at her entrance, his thumb circling her clit. Molly leaned forward, resting her face against his chest in an attempt to muffle the mewling sounds she made as he fucked her with his long fingers. The knowledge that a few feet below them their friends chatted amicably, completely unaware of the debauchery occurring in the upstairs bathroom excited Molly.

Sherlock waited until Molly relaxed against the door and then leaned forward and used his teeth to pull at her bottom lip, causing a heady combination of pain and pleasure to rip through her.  Suddenly, he grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them above her head against the door.

"Tell me to fuck you." 

She paused, biting her lip, feeling the familiar shyness overtake her again.  Yet, there was something unbelievably sexy about Sherlock taking complete control.  It was wanton and it made her feel wanted, desired.  No man had ever made her feel this way before.

At her slight hesitation, Sherlock tightened his grip on her wrists.

“Say it. Tell me you want me. Tell me to fuck you,” he demanded, locking eyes with her.

Molly nodded her head, her chest heaving uncontrollably with desire. "Fuck me," she whispered, as she slowly raised the hem of her skirt until it bunched around her waist.

“Tell me I'm the only man who's ever made you come.  Not Tom.  Not Moriarity.  Not Lestrade. Only me."

Molly gasped in shock, confusion in her voice, "Lestrade? What are you talking about? Sherlock, what's going on?"

“Say it.” He demanded again. 

"You’re the only man who's ever made me come. You’re the only man that I’ve ever wanted. That I’ll ever want." Molly replied on command, excited by his forceful demands. 

With that pronouncement, Sherlock moved his hand to unzip himself, pulled his cock out, and pushed deeply into Molly.  With a strangled moan, Molly drew her legs up to hitch around his hips.  As Sherlock began to thrust into her, Molly pulled him towards her so she could press hungry kisses against the side of his face.

“You’re mine, Molly.  You belong to me. Say it.”

Sherlock ran kisses down her neck then found her mouth. He was finally forced to break the kiss as he panted for air.

“I belong to you. Only you.” Molly moaned as her muscles constricted around his cock.

His hands squeezed her hips, she’d certainly have bruises in the morning, as he thrust his pelvis against hers before sliding almost all the way out of her and pounding back in, fucking her hard and fast until he was coming too.

As they both gasped for breath, Sherlock slowly eased himself out of Molly and re-zipped his pants.  Molly raised her hand to gently caress his face, wiping some of the sweat off his forehead with her fingers.

“Sherlock? Not that that wasn’t lovely,” she blushed, “but…well, you know that I only want to be with you, right?  I meant what I said. There’ll never be anyone else but you.”

Sherlock leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head, "I know."


End file.
